Forgive Me My Trespasses
by Bean2
Summary: Sequel to Not My Fault He's Beautiful. How does one get over that? **implied non-consensual sex, talks of incest, and sexual abuse**
1. Of Runaway Doors

Harry Potter thought he had to have the most dratted luck in all the world. All he'd been trying to do was hide in the utility closet long enough to let filch pass through the corridor, then he'd fully planned to return to his dormitory.  
  
But when he'd stepped in and closed the closet door behind him, the last thing he'd expected was to see Draco Malfoy, sitting on an upturned bucket, smoking a cigarette. Malfoy appeared equally surprised to see him, nearly dropping the cigarette in his shock.  
  
"Potter?"  
  
Harry promptly turned back towards the door, more willing to face Filch than Malfoy any day, but found that he could not find the door.  
  
"The door's gone!"  
  
"It does that sometimes." Harry spun around again, this time finding Draco calm once more, idly puffing his cigarette. He felt his stomach clench as he realised that not only was he trapped, he was trapped with *him*.  
  
"What am I supposed to do, then?"  
  
Malfoy looked up at Harry, his expression blank. "Well, Potter, I suppose you'll have to wait until it comes back." He said as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. Harry merely stared at him, wondering if this sort of thing, doors just disappearing of their own free will, was a common occurrence in his strange and twisted life. Malfoy stared back at him, the icy silver eyes unblinking. He broke the gaze, then, long enough to push another mop bucket Harry's way, then returned to Harry's eyes.  
  
"Have a seat, will you? You're making me nervous standing around like that."  
  
Harry could have laughed out loud had his throat not been so tight with the pent up urge to scream bloody murder and pound the wall until help came. Honestly, I'm making *him* nervous?  
  
"That's quite alright," He said, finding the barest whisper of a voice in his lungs, "I think I'll stand." With that he reached out and pulled the bucket to the wall and sat on it.  
  
Draco laughed a bit. A laugh that contained real mirth and Harry wondered how such a monster could produce a sound as pure as laughter.  
  
"Or you'll sit, I suppose. You're an odd bug, Harry."  
  
Harry didn't respond, just sat watching his foe, waiting for the slightest tensing of muscle to show that he was getting ready to spring, and hurt him again. He couldn't stop the involuntary shudder that ran through him as memories of that night flashed in his head. Malfoy noticed this, and raised his platinum eyebrows slightly, and something about the look he was giving Harry caused something to snap in the raven-haired boy. Before he half knew what he was doing, he'd sprung across the closet tackled Malfoy and pinned him to the ground. Harry reared back with his right arm and brought it back down, hard, on Malfoy's mouth. He repeated the action several times, ignoring the pale boy's struggles below him.  
  
"I hate you!" Harry shrieked in the madness that only months of emotional torment can bring on a person. "You bloody bastard! How could you do that to me!? I hate you! I hope you die! I hope I kill you right now, you bloody bastard! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" He kept on, screeching obscenities and punching and hitting until it seemed as if someone had pulled a plug inside him and all his anger faded away, replaced by the all too familiar sadness that always accompanied the tears. They streaked down his cheeks as he rolled off the beaten, bloody boy beneath him. Huge, body-shaking sobs racked his small frame, made even smaller by months of not eating properly. Harry felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and tasted the coppery adrenaline in his mouth, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He simply lay there, gasping in great gulps of hot air between his sobs. Somewhere, far off it seemed, he registered that Malfoy was crying as well, but he paid no heed. The only pain that was important right now was his own. It seemed to Harry that it took hours to cry himself out, but when he had he sat up and leaned against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest, sniffling the last few sniffles left in him. Malfoy sat, much in the same position, though looking a little worse for the wear, on the other side of the room. He looked up at Harry and his steely eyes burned with the sorrow and despair they held. Then he said the last thing Harry had ever expected to hear from him.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Harry…"  
  
TBC  
  
AN: ( Howdy, folks! I've decided to make my sequel a chaptered thing, and here's the first instalment. I quite like it. ( Short yes but future chapters will be longer. ( Enjoy it! 


	2. Of Confessions and Understanding

Harry couldn't find his voice. Malfoy was sorry? After all this he was just sorry.  
  
"You're, sorry Malfoy? You're *sorry*? I haven't had a decent nights sleep in months because of the nightmares you've caused me, I can't even go anywhere by myself without feeling afraid, because of you, everyone's asking me every ten seconds if I'm ok, and I can't even give them an honest 'yes' because I'm not and it's because of you and you're just *sorry*?" Harry was seeing red again. "You should be on your knees begging my forgiveness. You should feel like complete and total shite because of what you did to me-"  
  
"And you think I don't?!" Draco's angry voice ripped through Harry's tirade, shocking the raven-haired boy into silence. He was breathing heavily and Harry noticed for the first time the dark circles under his eyes, and just how wasted away he looked, almost rivaling Harry, himself. "I have to live everyday with what I did, and at least you know that you did nothing wrong! I don't have that!"  
  
"Well you bloody well should have thought about that before you hurt me!"  
  
It was Draco's turn to be shocked into silence. The two regarded each other silently for a moment, then the malice returned to Malfoy's face, and Harry felt himself becoming afraid once more.  
  
"You think you got it so bad, Potter." Draco's voice was icy cold, matched only by the coldness of his steely eyes. "One bad night and you think your life is hell. Be thankful you only had to go through it once."  
  
The comment hit Harry like a blow. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
Malfoy was on his feet and in seconds had crossed the small room to where Harry sat. Harry looked up at the blonde boy who towered over him and felt the uneasiness creep into his gut. Malfoy crouched so that they were eye to eye and put his face right up to Harry's. Harry moved his head away but felt it contact the solid wall; Malfoy moved close again.  
  
"You want to know what I mean, Potter?" He inquired, spitting Harry's name out like a bad taste. "I'll tell you. Try living your entire life in fear of the one person you're supposed to be able to trust. Try spending every night awake in your bed waiting for him to come in and hurt you again, just like he does every single night. Try wishing yourself dead because of the things your own *father* does to you. Your's is over, Potter, you have nothing more to fear from me. I'll never touch you again. But until the day Lucious Malfoy dies, I'll be living with it. He'll never stop, Potter, because that's the kind of monster he is. He doesn't care, he doesn't show any mercy. All he cares about is his own sick pleasure. It doesn't matter to him if he ruins his own son's life. *That's* what I mean, Potter." Malfoy regarded him for a moment more, then stood and left Harry, stunned, in his spot by the wall.  
  
He felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him at Malfoy's confession. No matter what happened for the rest of his life, he would never be able to look at his platinum haired enemy the same way again. Draco had been abused by his own father, and in turn had done the same to Harry. The situation reminded him distinctly of something he'd once read in a psychology monthly that he'd swiped from the table in the sitting room after Uncle Vernon had thrown it there, hoping to look intelligent for the guests he'd been expecting that night. Much to his surprise, he found that he understood. He couldn't forgive, but he understood.  
  
"Did you ever tell anyone?"  
  
Malfoy looked up at him, his eyes tired once more as he pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it. He took a long drag, inhaling the smoke deeply.  
  
"Did *you* ever tell anyone, Harry?"  
  
Harry looked away. "No…" He returned, his voice quiet. "Everyone knows what happened, but I refused to talk about it. I was too ashamed." He looked back at Draco, "In fact, if you hadn't left me there to be found like that they wouldn't have known it had happened at all…" He trailed off realising what Malfoy was getting at. "Oh…"  
  
Malfoy nodded. "There's your answer, Harry." He held out the pack of cigarettes to Harry, "Smoke?"  
  
"No, I don't smoke." Harry replied taking a cigarette from the pack and then the proffered matches. He lit the smoke, puffed on it a bit and erupted into a fit of coughing. Draco watched him, amused.  
  
"Just breathe it in Harry, like normally."  
  
Harry tried and found that it did go a little smoother, and the next smoother than that. Soon, he was smoking like he'd been doing it for years. He was, perhaps, so involved in learning this new art, that he didn't notice that the wall behind him felt oddly different, and Draco was so interested in watching him learn it, that he noticed nothing either.  
  
Then suddenly, Draco's voice interrupted the slight dizzy spell Harry's cigarette was giving him. "The door's back, Harry."  
  
Harry looked up, and sure enough, there was the door, as though it had never left in the first place. He stood, took the final pull on his cigarette, then threw his invisibility cloak on and left wordlessly. He made his way up to his dormitory unhindered and climbed into his bed without even removing his invisibility cloak. There he lay for most of the sleepless night, his conversation with Malfoy- no, he could never think of him that impersonally again- his conversation with *Draco* playing over and over in his mind.  
  
TBC ^^  
  
SWMNBN: Tada! The sequel is going to be fun to write I can tell…  
  
Draco: ::lounging on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and a malt drink, complete with little umbrella as an actor with an American accent covers the television screen:: You're a sick minded git if nothing else, Lacey… Hey, is there going to be any action in this story? I mean come on! We spent all that time alone in the closet and didn't even get it on once! My hopes for this story grow dismal, Lace.  
  
SWMNBN: And I'm sick minded?  
  
Harry: ::sitting next to Draco, takes his drink.:: I don't like it much. This bloke here has better plots in his movies.  
  
SWMNBN: Fat lot you know… 


	3. Potions and Nightmares (And rowdy muses)

Chapter 3  
  
A.N. Hullo! Been a while since I posted, eh? Well, this is only a wee short chapter, but it's 4 in the morning! How much do you people expect from me?!  
  
"Oi, Harry. Where've you been all night?" Ron poked his tousled red head through the curtains of his four poster and looked quizzically at Harry.  
  
"What're you still doing up?" Harry sent Ron a confused look of his own.  
  
"That's exactly the question I just asked you." Ron made a face, "Well, not *exactly*. You know what I mean."  
  
"Went for a walk, Ron. I couldn't sleep well."  
  
Ron scrunched his freckled nose. "You all right Harry?"  
  
"Just wonderful."  
  
"No you're not." He took a sad look to his face. "Are you ever going to be ok again, Harry?"  
  
"One day, Ron. I'll be all right one day."  
  
"When's that going to be Harry?"  
  
"Bloody hell, Ron. I don't know."  
  
Ron sighed. "Fine then." He rolled over, pulling his head back into the cubicle formed by the curtains and posts of his bed. "Harry?"  
  
"Bloody *what*, Ron?"  
  
"Why won't you tell anyone who did that to you? You'd feel better, I'd imagine."  
  
"No I wouldn't"  
  
"But you would! You'd know the bastard was locked away in Azkaban, never to hurt you, or any other innocent people, again."  
  
"I already do know that, Ron."  
  
"Say, what?"  
  
"Nothing. Now would you quiet down so I can get a bit of sleep?"  
  
"Right."  
  
Silence fell over the dark room as Harry changed into his night shirt and climbed into his bed. Then…  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"WHAT!?"  
  
"Is that fags I smell on you?"  
  
"Go to bed, Ron."  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
Double Potions with Slytherin the next day was surprisingly less brutal than it could've been. Even Snape, who like the other teachers had softened up somewhat since 'the incident', refrained from any of his normal stinging commentary. Even the sideways glances from Draco weren't enough to spoil the day. Bright and sunny, certainly unusual weather for Britain, the breeze blew softly bringing the lightest rustle from the trees. Windows thrown open throughout the school, save in the always dank and dreary dungeons, allowed the out door freshness to filter through out the school.  
  
He'd been paired with Neville, perhaps a testament to Snape's continuing dislike of Harry, but with Harry's help nothing was destroyed, no limbs were lost, and the lads' singed eyebrows were hardly noticeable. Despite all this though, Harry found himself barely able to concentrate on his lessons. Marks be damned, he just wasn't up for studying today. The lesson went by remarkably quickly, and before long, Harry found himself splayed out over the oversized armchair in the Gryffindor common room. Fred and George settled in over a seemingly never ending game of chess, the pieces squealing instructions back and forth, with one particularly rowdy pawn of Fred's giving bad instructions to George.  
  
Harry went to bed that night feeling better than he had in a good bit.  
  
~*~  
  
He was back there, in that bloody room, tied to that same bloody bed. He felt the searing pain of his wee body being split in two like it had never stopped. His attacker's blonde head was bowed from his sight, the body, larger and heavier than he remembered. His cries issued forth, loud an agonising only to be sucked up in darkness of the cramped hotel room. Think finger took Harry's face roughly, forced him to look up… and into the face of Lucious Malfoy…  
  
TBC  
  
Harry: Oi, bloody hell, Lacey… When's the shagging going to come in?  
  
Bean: Shaddup, Harry. This is a dramatic story, not some perverted romp.  
  
Draco: Well, why isn't it? I've taken quite a fancy to those perverted romps, I have.  
  
Bean: I told you! I'll write a pervy romp as soon as I finish this.  
  
Draco: That's going to take you years at the rate you're going! I'm getting quite randy by this point.  
  
Bean: Well you'll just have to mas- ::interrupted by a loud banging from the wardrobe in the corner of the room::  
  
Harry: ::raised eyebrows:: I think the hobbits want out… ::stands and goes to the old wooden wardrobe, opening the door. Two wee figures tumble out, curly hair mussed and sticking out every which way.::  
  
Merry: It's about bloody time. Bloke can't rightly breathe in that thing.  
  
Pippin: ::hands on hips:: Lacey. A word with you. ::stands on tiptoes to grab Lacey by the ear::  
  
Bean: Bloody OW! Peregrin! Let go!  
  
Pippin: ::leads her to a secluded corner of the room while the others watch, amused:: Now, when are you planning to write another chapter of our story? We're spending a bit too much time in that bloody wardrobe. And bloody hell. What's with that blinkin' 'Sincere' piece of shite you wrote? You planning on posting that?  
  
Bean: ::still being gripped around the ear:: I *can't*! You know that!  
  
Pippin: ::lets go of her ear:: Why not?  
  
Bean: Actor fics you dolt. ::thwaps him upside the head.:: Anywho. ::brightens looks out towards her readers:: Hullo! I'd like to say thanks to ::tele rings loudly::  
  
Pippin: ::anwers:: Hullo? Oi! Aye, she's here… bit busy now… can she ring you in a bit? Aye… cheers mate… ::hangs up, turns to Lacey:: Oi, Lacey, that was Nickolai for you. Wants you to give him a ring when you get done.  
  
Bean: Pip! Why didn't you just give me the phone?  
  
Pippin: ::grins:: Didna feel like it.  
  
Bean: ::scowls:: 


	4. Fears

Draco Malfoy couldn't sleep.  
  
Every time eyelids decended over silver eyes, the image of Harry Potter, tears streaming down his hate-filled visage rose, haunting as his mouth spewed silent curses. And if not that, another despised face appeared. The one that had tortured his wee body for as long as he could remember; the face of Lucious Malfoy.  
  
Draco had never been able to call Lucious "Father" or "Da". He wasn't a father. Lucious Malfoy was a monster, he was evil. When speaking of Lucious, "evil" could not be used as an adjective, to describe a cruel- person. No, "evil" in relation to Lucious Malfoy was a noun. Lucious *was* evil. He was the embodiment of evil, and not even Voldemort held a candle to the absolute evil that was Lucious Malfoy.  
  
Draco heaved a sigh, rolling in his bed so that he faced the opposite set of identical forest-coloured curtains. The slender fingers came to his face, cupping the despair-ridden sob that escaped the boy's throat. He knew, as well as anyone did, that the person who hurt Harry Potter was a monster. Just like Lucious Malfoy. Perhaps he, Draco, was the personification of evil as well.  
  
He still remembered every detail of that night. The terrified sobbing of Harry Potter as his small body was violated in a way that Draco knew, from his own experience, could never be forgotten, or washed clean. The stains of that one night, would remain with The Boy Who Lived for all time. No matter what happened between them now, it would always be remembered that Draco had hurt him. Not that Draco expected anything to happen between them. Perhaps, if this were a fantasy world, where peace and happiness abounded, they could be mates. They might be able to trust each other with their own deepest secrets, or light hearted ramblings, product of a few philosophical moments spent contemplating the workings of their utopian world.  
  
This wasn't Utopia. This was Britain, and Draco had done unspeakable things to Harry. Yet, had that emotion that flickered across the other boys face for the barest of moments been what Draco thought… or was it simply the embellished imaginings of a soul longing for acceptance in a world too dark and harsh for innocence long buried in a heart so hardened by years of torment that it was a wonder to Draco that it still had the ability to beat? For the most fleeting seconds, Draco thought there had been understanding on Harry's pale face.  
  
He was a beautiful creature, if nothing else. Harry was lovely. The always-tousled, raven dark hair. The eyes, green as the ocean, or perhaps the cool deepness of a forest, that, though glimmering with sadness, held a goodness and purity that made Draco's heart skip a beat. Harry was the embodiment of Good, and Draco, of Evil. Harry was an angel, and Draco a demon. A demon spawned by the foulness of Satan himself.  
  
And what if the madness were to take Draco again? He'd not been thinking as himself the day he'd broken Harry, he'd not planned it, nor wanted to do it until he was doing it, and what if it happened again? What if he laid eyes on some innocent student, who brought the unimaginable rage bubbling to the surface, clouded his mind with images of a horror too painful to consider?  
  
*What if he did it again?*  
  
Would he be able to stop himself? To find the control he'd been unable to bring all those months ago? Would he be able to turn his face away, and convince himself that this was not, and had nothing to do with the unspeakable evil of his father?  
  
*What if he did it again?*  
  
The tears sliding horizontally over Draco's temple and nose as he lay there, were big and hot, burning wet trails over the smooth whiteness of his skin. His head pounded with the ache of his cries, and his eyelids longed to close, eveloping him in the warm darkness of a sleep that would surely be too deep to hold dreams. Nightmares. And he finally succumbed to himself, allowing the leaden lids to slide down over silver plated eyes, the breathing to become slow and easy. He allowed the sleep to descend on his worn body, and somewhere in the back of his jumbled mind, the desire to never wake from the peaceful fuzziness of sleep made itself known.  
  
TBC  
  
Ah yes… short I know. ::cringes:: I'm sorry, but this was a train of thought chapter and it *is* late. The muses are all asleep, so if this chapter isn't up to snuff, its not my fault.  
  
I'd like to thank Pepsi, Franthepheonix, and Quidditchgrrl. Your reviews made me feel wonderful, and without reviews like yours I probably wouldn't even have the motivation to write more of this. An author like me can't go on with out her feed back… 


	5. Unrecognised Revelations

Chapter 5  
  
A.N.: Pepsi! My love, where would I be without you? You're reviews always make me smile and I'm really happy that you're enjoying my story. :) Lix, darling. Another reviewer who makes me very very happy. :) Quidditchgrrl, crying? Oh my. *blush*. LoverWren: there very well may be some action in this, but I'm not entirely sure, so. *watches all her readers walk away, glaring at her over their shoulders* Waaaaiiiit! Come back! I'll try for the action!  
  
******  
  
Harry couldn't sleep.  
  
He tried to blame his inability to drop off into the slumber that came so easily to his dorm-mates on the moon shining through the small crack in the rich dark curtains at the windows. Or to the snuffling snores of Neville Longbottom in his corner of the dorm room. But even his scapegoating mind couldn't hold with its own excuses. The moon was no brighter than it ever was, and Neville's snoring hadn't bothered him since sometime in the middle of first year. No the undeniable truth was he was thinking about Draco.  
  
How was it that a single confession could change a life so completely, so lastingly? How was it that he could feel anything other than hatred for Draco Malfoy? He'd done a rather impressive job of ruining Harry's life, hadn't he?  
  
With a frustrated moan he turned himself over, pressing his face into the softness of his pillow and inhaling the scent of his own shampoo, the same thought chasing itself in circles round his mind: "Why me?".  
  
As far as he could tell, he wasn't a bad person. Sure he'd broken a few rules in his time, but it usually turned out to be for a good reason, didn't it?  
  
And why was it his fault that Lucius Malfoy was a sick bastard? Why should *he* be punished because the git couldn't keep his hands off his own son.  
  
"His own son." Harry murmured into his pillow. "He rapes his own son."  
  
An image sprang unbidden to Harry's mind. Draco Malfoy tied, as he himself had been, to that bed in the Leaky Cauldron. Draco wept, in a soft, broken sort of way as Lucius Malfoy moved atop him in a disgusting parody of what was supposed to be an act of love.  
  
Harry's fingers trailed absentmindedly to the light pink scars encircling his left wrist, a fading reminder of his own nightmare, and he wondered how Draco, having experienced the horrors of rape himself, could bring those horrors to another.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his curtains being pulled aside, and he rolled over to see Ron sliding into the bed next to him, then pulling the curtains shut once more.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
"I heard you crying." came the whispered reply as Ron situated himself cross legged on the bed.  
  
"I wasn't-" Harry began, dragging a hand over his cheek, surprised to see it come back glistening with tears. "Oh." he said. "Sorry if I woke you."  
  
"You didn't." Said Ron, looking unaccountably nervous.  
  
"Are you ok?"  
  
"Yes." But it was more than obvious that he had something weighing on his mind, so Harry sat up as well.  
  
"What's wrong, Ron?"  
  
Ron looked to be making a very big decision, and finally he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "Do you think you'll ever be able to. to love someone again? Or to be in a relationship?"  
  
Harry visibly started at the question. "I. er. well, why?"  
  
"Well," Ron began slowly, clearly choosing his words carefully. "I wou- I know some. a person who would." He paused and looked at Harry meaningfully. "Who would give anything in the world to be with you."  
  
Harry snorted, the meaning lost on his muddled mind. "You're sister, is it?"  
  
Ron allowed a strangely high-pitched laugh. "Aye." He chortled. "Numpty, eh?"  
  
"Not to offend, mate, but just a bit." His face broke into a genuine smile for the first time since the 'incident'. "I'll just as soon, be with you, eh?" He giggled.  
  
"Right, then." Ron said, smile clearly false. "That's me off, if you're feeling better."  
  
Harry nodded, slightly confused, then smiled. "Ta, Ron."  
  
"Yeah," Said Ron with that strangely fixed smile. "Night, then." And he returned to his own bed. Harry, feeling more content than he had in ages fell quickly into a deep, dreamless, warm sleep.  
  
He completely missed the sound of soft, heart-broken sobbing coming from Ron's bed.  
  
****  
  
Ron didn't go down to breakfast that morning, and Harry, waiting for him, nearly missed it as well.  
  
"Where's Ron?" was Hermione's greeting as Harry took a seat across from her.  
  
"In the loo, last I saw. He says he's not feeling well, wouldn't come out. I tried to get him to go to Madam Pomfrey, but he told me he'd go on his own and to go on down to breakfast myself." Was Harry's reply, the last bit added to ensure her that he hadn't been so uncaring as to leave his best mate sick in the bathroom.  
  
"What's wrong with him?" Hermione asked, her face taking a look of concern.  
  
Harry shrugged, taking a quick bite of fried egg. "I asked, but he wouldn't tell me." He shrugged again, and finishing the egg in a few large bites, started in on a bowl of porridge, Hermione watching on with a mixture of disgust and approval on her face.  
  
"Hungry, are you?"  
  
"Absolutely starving." Came the reply round a mouthful of toast and a grin.  
  
Hermione grinned back. "Good to see you eating again." Her expression softened. "I was getting worried about you."  
  
Harry snorted cynically. "I can't see why. I've been perfectly all right."  
  
"It's just that-"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it." Harry interrupted, but it was too late. Good humour now gone he pushed away his half-finished breakfast.  
  
"Sorry..." Said Hermione, but she seemed none to keen on finishing her own breakfast, choosing rather to stare at her plate in a forlorn sort of way.  
  
Harry looked up at her, and couldn't help catching a glimpse of Draco Malfoy, pushing food around his own plate. Twice, Harry saw him look up to the window through which the post owls entered each morning, as if anticipating- or dreading by the looks of him- the arrival of the morning post. Sighing a bit, Harry looked back at Hermione, sad-faced and tired- looking, and felt a pang of guilt. He had to put this whole affair behind him, if not for his own sake, then for that of his mates.  
  
"Hermione I-" Harry began at the same time Hermione said, "Harry I-"  
  
They smiled at each other. "Go on, then." They said in unison, then "No, you." Was also in tandem, and they both laughed out right at that.  
  
Still grinning, Harry had just opened his mouth to tell Hermione to go first, when a great whooshing and hooting announced the arrival of the post owls. Harry's eyes immediately snapped over to the Slytherin table, searching out Draco's reaction. The boy had gone, if possible, even paler than usual, as his large eagle owl dropped a letter into his lap. Harry watched as Draco opened the letter, blanched even whiter, and left the room without looking back. Harry, acting on instinct rather than thought, jumped to his feet and followed, barely registering Hermione's call of "Don't be late for Transfiguration!"  
  
He reached the entrance hall in time to see Draco ducking into a side classroom and quickly trotted after him, perching himself just outside the door. The sounds coming from the room were very odd indeed: heavy, almost angry breathing, accompanying the sound of parchment being shredded and crumpled. "I'll ignore it." Came Draco's voice, a strangely maniacal note to it. "I'll ignore it, never got it."  
  
The sound of footsteps could be heard then, and before Harry could move to get away, Draco had crashed, rather solidly, into him. With a startled "oomph!" Harry lost his centre and landed firmly on his bum on the floor.  
  
"What the hell, Potter?!" Draco's voice was angry and biting, and that combined with the hateful expression on his face, which Harry had seen only once before, when Draco had violated him, was enough to make him cower away from the lad who seemed to tower above him. To his utter humiliation, tears were welling in his eyes, begging to spill down his cheeks and make him look like an even bigger git.  
  
"I-I'm sorry, I was. I was going to my dormitory." He lied, his tear- blurred vision lighting on the staircase leading up to Gryffindor Tower.  
  
Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Were you following me?"  
  
"No! I-"  
  
"Harry?!" Both boys switched round at the exclamation in time to see Ron dashing down the staircase towards them. The gangling red-head dropped to his knees at Harry's side, taking in his tearful mate, and his still seething enemy. "What the *hell* did you do to him?" Ron demanded, his voice scathing enough to take Draco back a few paces.  
  
"I didn't touch him, Weasel." Draco sneered once he'd regained his composure. "It's not my fault ickle Potters a cry-baby."  
  
Harry's head snapped up and he glared at Malfoy with a mixture of anger and disbelief on his face. Not his fault? As if any of Harry's problems these days could be attributed to anyone else.  
  
Ron looked on the cusp of a cutting response, when the bell rang and hordes of students poured from the Great Hall, the three lads getting lost in the surge of bodies.  
  
"Harry! Ron!" Hermione's voice rang out over the noise of the oblivious students and the looked back to see her elbowing her way through the crowd. When the switched back, Malfoy had gone, leaving no evidence that he'd been there at all. Harry allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and dragged his sleeve over his eyes, banishing the humiliating tears there as Hermione reached them.  
  
"What are you-" Hermione stopped, gaping at Harry's reddened face. "Harry? Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine." Harry muttered, studiously not looking at her. "We'd best nip off then, eh? Transfiguration."  
  
"Oh, right." Hermione looked utterly baffled, but followed her two friends to Professor McGonagall's classroom.  
  
Harry spent the majority of the lesson, avoiding the questioning eyes of his mates, but he couldn't ignore the piece of parchment passed into his lap, bearing Ron's untidy scrawling of //It was Draco, wasn't it? Who hurt you?//  
  
A.N.: and to anyone I may have missed, know that I appreciate you all beyond measure, and if it weren't for your kind words, I probably wouldn't be continuing this. 


End file.
